


history, huh?

by queersuperhell (orphan_account)



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, its a rwrb au!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/queersuperhell
Summary: Catra Claremont-Diaz and HRH Adora have never liked one another. But what happens when they are forced to play nice for the sake of both of their countries?THIS IS A RED WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE AUalso im not a very good writer but im trying my best :)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 90





	1. chapter one: catra claremont-diaz

**Author's Note:**

> here we are, chapter one! again sorry im not the greatest writer but im trying. also its kinda short compared to casey’s writing but again im trying. this is also my first fic so take that into mind

“You know what’s fucking stupid?” I ask nobody in particular, sifting through a box of vinyls searching for the right one to play right now. 

“Please, Catra. Enlighten us,” Lonnie says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her head rests on Kyle’s knees that hang off the edge of the bed. 

“Royal fucking weddings. I mean why do they need to spend so much money on a goddamn wedding. It’s not like the marriage is going to last more than a couple years anyways.” I respond instantly, picking up a record before placing it back in the box.

“Catra, stop being such a cynic. We’re going to have fun!” Kyle responds, placing a hand atop Lonnie’s head. 

“It’s like prom, but put it in hell. I mean who spends 75k on a cake, for fucks sake.” 

“Prince Seahawk clearly does. I mean, have you seen his moustache?” Kyle says, using his fingers to form a fake moustache. 

“I mean, you’ll get to see your rival again,” Lonnie says, shifting her eyes over to Catra. 

“For the last time, Lonnie, she is not my rival. If she was my rival, we’d actually be on the same playing field. But she’s a picture perfect princess and I’m the daughter of the first female president. We are certainly not the same.” I straighten my spine before pulling a Queen record out its sleeve and placing it on the turntable. Lonnie hums when she sees my choice and nods along to the beat. 

The two children of President Scorpia Claremont are some of the weirdest people. With my wry humour and Lonnie’s sheer lack of giving a fuck, we make a pretty weird set of siblings. And paired with our best friend Kyle, grandson of the Vice President, we’re a force to be reckoned with. With our different personalities blending together to form a formidable squad, we were dubbed the “White House Trio” by the press. “The closest thing America has to royalty,” they write. And so from day one, Catra Claremont-Diaz (aka me) was compared to Her Royal Highness Adora. Of course, Adora was an arrogant asshole who was nothing like me. 

“Ugh… did you get your outfit picked out? There is literally no getting out of this for you.” I groaned at Lonnie’s words.

“Of course, I’m not an animal. I had Netossa approve it weeks ago. I’m wearing my maroon suit, because obviously. I look fucking hot in it.” I reply, sprawling out on the rug. 

“Wait, Netossa is letting you wear that? She made me wear a goddamn dress. You know I hate dresses!” Lonnie exclaims, sitting up momentarily before falling back to her spot, leaning on Kyle’s knee. 

For hours, we sit together in my room in the White House, forgetting all responsibilities. Forgetting that in less than 12 hours, we’re going to be on a plane going across the Atlantic ocean to the royal wedding. After putting on record after record, the others start slowly falling into lull of sleep. But Kyle has to get up and go back to his apartment and Lonnie back to her room. And suddenly I'm alone in my room, with my thoughts. Thinking about Adora, thinking about this royal wedding bullshit and thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
In my opinion, private jets are the best way to travel. With Kyle sitting next to me, reading a Harry Potter book and Lonnie across from him, solving a crossword puzzle. Rogelio sits next to her, racing to finish the puzzle first. Netossa sits in another row, doing paperwork. And President Claremont sits near her, revising said paperwork. This will never get old, focusing her attention on the movie playing on my phone. I’m watching Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back and thinking about Adora. And how infuriating she is. She’ll probably be there with her fucking posh British accent and her fucking gorgeous eyes and her weird ass friends. But my mom told me specifically not to engage with her because “Catra don’t ruin the royal wedding because of your stupid feud with the princess”. But the thought of Adora is causing my blood to boil in my veins, so I brush her and her stupid smile out of my head and focus on the movie. I happened to refocus at the part where Han and Leia are arguing in the hallway on Hoth and I smile. They’ve always been my favourite movie couple.

“What’s got Catra so smiley? Is she reading Adora’s wikipedia page again?” Lonnie asks, having glanced up to see me watching the movie. 

“For the last time, Lonnie! I was only reading it so I knew what to expect. It was more of a hate-read than anything,” I snap, pausing the movie.

“You were smiling and blushing while reading it, dumbass,” Lonnie quickly fires back, refocusing on her crossword. I unpaused the movie, but I hear Rodelio’s indignant cry through my headphones. I look up quickly to see Lonnie with her “I-just-won-something” smirk. Rolling my eyes, I tune back into the movie and feel the time on the plane fly by. 

By the time we reach the hotel we’ll be staying at, we’ve already had 2 appearances and thousands of photographs taken. The second the door closes behind me, I launch myself onto the plush bed. Lonnie sits on her bed, next to mine and surveys me with interest. 

“Don’t fucking talk for the next 3 hours. I’m going to shower and then sleep. It’s like 4 am in my head and the wedding isn’t for another 10 hours. I’m assuming Huntara will wake me up before then.” I painstakingly sit up from the mountain of pillows and grab some clothes before heading into the monstrous bathroom. The white marble is so bright it hurts my eyes. The only reprieve from the massive amount of white is the golden accents scattered throughout the room. I take a minute or two to figure out how to turn on the shower and then step in. After taking as short of a shower as I could, I snatch a towel and wrap it around my chest before putting on some loungewear. A pair of athletic shorts and a sports bra. I step out of the humid bathroom, with my hair wrapped in a towel, to find Lonnie fast asleep on her bed. And so I climb carefully into my own and quickly fall into a deep sleep.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I’ve been sitting in this goddamn church waiting for Princess Mermista to come and marry her fiance for forever. And of course Adora is there, standing at the altar, next to a girl with two toned, puffy hair. Her hair is swept into a ponytail with a puff at the front. Somebody clearly spent hours on her makeup, it's clear from 100 feet away. And her red dress was clearly fit perfectly to her body type and it’s infuriating how pretty she looks. We meet eyes for a second, and she has the audacity to wink at me. I narrow my eyes and huff. 

“Catra… I told you not to interact,” My mother whispers to me, but before I could snap a response back, Mermista starts walking down the aisle. She’s wearing a mermaid (ha) gown with spaghetti straps, made of a pure white lace with some blue embroidery here and there. Her hair is down, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Her blue makeup is a sharp contrast from her tan skin and she looks absolutely exquisite. Clearly, Seahawk thinks so as well because the moment she comes into view, holding a huge bouquet of white and blue flowers, his eyes go as wide as saucers. 

Two hours later, I’m seated at a table at a fancy reception in a ballroom at Buckingham palace. The color scheme is white with accents of pale blue and silver. Why is everything in this goddamn country so white? Princess Adora stands in the corner with her friend and somebody I’ve never seen before. I’m assuming he’s just as horrible as the other two are. Well, technically I’ve never met Adora’s sister Glimmer, but she’s bound to be just as bad as Adora is. I scowl deeper and Lonnie nudges me.

“It’s a royal wedding. Try and have fun,” She whispers to me, “how many times are you going to be able to say that you went to a royal wedding?”

“Will I get executed if I bring up my prom comparison from yesterday?” I ask Lonnie, causing Kyle to giggle. The three of us continue making jokes about everything, until some royal attendant comes up to us.

“Mister Kyle Holleran, her royal highness Adora wonders if you would do her the honor of dancing with her?” He sweeps into a bow in front of Kyle and I clench my fist under the table. Is her diabolical plan to woo my best friend or something?  
“Oh! I… uh-” Kyle starts, stunned.

“Of course he’ll dance with her!” Lonnie says for him, shoving him out of his chair. As soon as Kyle is out of earshot, I groan.

“God I hate her! It’s like she’s trying to steal Kyle from us as revenge or something stupid like that,” I mutter to Lonnie, who just pats my head in response.

“It’s cute that you think this is about you. This is what it’s actually about,” She says, gesturing to the swarm of photographers scrambling to get a picture of the person dancing with the princess. 

“This is the worst. I’m going to get a drink.” I say to Lonnie, getting up and walking over to the champagne fountain. Because this wedding has a goddamn champagne fountain. And that’s how I find myself drinking between 4 to 8 glasses of champagne. And after downing another one, a figure comes up beside me. 

“Hey Adora,” I say, mockingly bowing. I take the moment of hesitation to study her. She is absolutely gorgeous, and it's infuriating. Her dress is a two-toned fit and flare gown, cinched at the waist with a gold belt. Her makeup matches perfectly, fading from the darker color on one side to the lighter one on the other. Her winged liner is perfect too. At this point, her lipstick is a little smudged and she has one or two hairs slightly out of place. Her ethereal grace makes me unreasonably angry. 

“Ah. Catra. I was wondering if I would have the misfortune of talking to you tonight.” She responds, picking up a glass and using the fountain to fill it.

“When you have one of these stupid things, at least make sure there is more than one champagne fountain. It’s embarrassing that there is only one,” I turn my head to face her and her eyes narrow as she realizes something.

“Catra, I really think you should cap it at, what is this, drink number 7?” Adora goes for my glass but I put it slightly out of her reach.

“Now, now Adora. Practice proper etiquette or whatever. It’s not princess-ly to try and grab somebody’s drink out of their hand, now is it?” I ask her, purposefully taunting her. A voice in my head tells me that I probably shouldn’t be talking to Adora, but I ignore it. 

“Catra, I really don't think it’s a good idea for you to be drinking this much. You’re going to make even more bad decisions.” Hearing her say my name makes me so angry that I feel queasy, but the fact that she started to walk away is what made me furious.

“Who are you to judge my decisions, Miss Princess.” I ask her, grabbing her arm to keep her from leaving. She turns to me, jerking her arm out of my grasp. She pushes me, and because of my addled state, I fall. I attempt to grab onto her for balance, but I just drag her down with me. Instead of falling onto the floor, we’re falling into the huge blue and white cake that we hadn’t even realized was there. And suddenly we’re both on our backs, covered head to toe in cake and buttercream. And I hear two things, the click of a camera and the posh voice of the girl next to me.

“Fucking hell.”


	2. chapter two: catra claremont-diaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and Adora are forced to play nice for publicity and it goes different than expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh season 5 messed me up and i woke up at 3 am to watch.  
> also bold is kyle, bold and italics are lonnie and normal is catra!

“Catra, you had ONE job,” my mother tells me, two days after what has been dubbed “Cakegate” by the press. It’s not the first lecture I’ve gotten about this mess, hell it’s not even the first lecture from her I’ve gotten, but it’s the first lecture from Scorpia Claremont, president of the United States of America. Netossa sits menacingly at her side, reviewing her paperwork and occasionally glaring at me, “One job. Do not engage with Adora. But no! You had to make trouble. You know the press is saying that your ‘rivalry,’” She throws up air quotes. I’m a bit stunned because while my mother is very formidable, she’s actually the sweetest person you’ll meet, “is why connections with Europe are so strained right now.” 

“She started it, mom” I grumble and Netossa’s head whips up at the words.

“Kitty, the press doesn’t care who started it. We just have to make things right,” my mom starts, gesturing to Netossa to continue.

“We were up all night trying to figure this out with the royal family people. We honestly couldn’t think of much, so this is the best we got. You and Adora are now best friends to the world,” Netossa informs me, pausing so I could squeak out my disagreement, “We’ve decided to play this whole disaster off as a play fight between two close friends. So in order to really sell this: We’re sending you to England for the weekend to do a mini press tour with Adora and in January, she’ll come to the State Dinner. All the information you need is in this binder. You have 2 minutes to complain, but then you’ve got to pack.”

“Ugh, seriously! This wasn’t even my fault,” I say, almost as soon as Netossa finished speaking. 

“Trust us, the royal family is just as pleased as we are,” my mom says with a grimace. I open the binder and skim the pages. The majority is a Princess Adora facts sheet and then the schedule of what we have to do and what appearances we have to make. 

So that is how I found myself lying on my bedroom floor with Lonnie and Kyle for the second time in three days.

“Look at this shit!” I say, gesturing to one of the facts that says ‘Favourite food: Mutton Pie’, “I’m convinced she’s not real. I mean, who the hell is eating a fucking MEAT PIE for fun?”

“Adora, clearly.” Kyle reaches for the binder as he speaks. 

“I’m kinda curious what Netossa put on my facts sheet? Like did she make shit up to make me seem as robotic as Adora or did she keep it normal?”

“Well, I know at least one. She probably put in the allergies section ‘Shutting the fuck up’,” Lonnie says, ignoring the way I flipped her off.

“Can we make this a drinking game? I need to get drunk quick tonight,” I announce to the room, going for my minifridge. I pull out two bottles of red wine, placing them on a table, “One sip for a fact that I get right, two for a fact that is just awful.”

“That’s cool with me,” Lonnie says, pouring each of us a large glass and reaching for the binder. “What is her father’s name?” 

“Oh that’s an easy one. Micah Fox. He played James Bond in the 80s and died in 2015 from pancreatic cancer. Drink bitches,” I say, taking a large swig from my bottle.

Three hours later, the bottles are mostly empty and the questions mostly answered. Kyle passes out on the floor and Lonnie stumbles back to her room after chugging the remains of the bottle. I collapse onto my bed, my body, brain and liver all exhausted. I think about what’s coming in the morning and I groan, not ready to face Adora so soon.

* * *

After getting off the plane at some private royal airstrip, I’m hurried into a car to go to the royal stables to have Princess Adora welcome me into her country. Because OF COURSE it had to be at the royal stables. The moment my ass hits the leather of the car, a non-disclosure agreement is shoved into my hands. I raise my eyebrows at the thickness of it. 

“Do you always give guests a novella to read?” I ask the woman, who I assumed was Adora’s handler or whatever they were called. She had introduced herself but I didn’t fully catch her name. She gave me a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, ma’am. Standard protocol and all that.” I shrug and look over it, skimming it to see typical NDA things. But the list goes on and on, touching on things I wouldn’t have even thought to do. But I sign my name and hand the thick wad of papers back to the woman in the passenger seat. 

“We’re coming up on the royal stables now. Make sure to do any hair/makeup changes you might want to before it’s too late. There are going to be a lot of cameras.” I pull my phone out of my bag and allow Netossa to fix my hair and reapply some concealer. We slowly pull to a stop, and somebody opens the door for me almost instantly. I steel my nerves and slip out of the car to hear the noise of camera clicks as soon as my shoe hits the pavement. Somebody guides me forward and tells me that they’re just waiting for Her Royal Highness Adora to finish polo practice. Perfect, she’ll be all sweaty and gross. Plus she’ll have helmet hair. We stand there for at least five minutes before Adora comes galloping towards us, before halting so I could walk to her. 

“Hey, Adora,” I say to her, doing another mock bow. She grunts in amusement as she takes her helmet off and her golden hair comes tumbling down her shoulders in waves. She’s pointedly not sweaty and disgusting. And her hair isn’t messy from the helmet. And it infuriates me that she’s so perfect.

“Ah. Catra! You look remarkably sober compared to the last time I saw you,” Adora says when I’m within earshot of her version of the I-want-to-say-something-but-the-press-can’t-hear-it voice. She dismounts from her horse and walks up to me, handing her helmet off to some attendant. She reaches a hand out for me to shake, but instead I hug her. I feel every inch of her stiffen the second I make contact, but she hugs back.

“I think I’d rather swallow glass than complete this weekend,” I whisper in her ear, and I feel her shake with suppressed laughter and we pull away.

“I honestly think I’d rather be waterboarded. Your country could arrange that, right?” She asks, adopting a fake innocent voice. I chuckle as we pose for more and more pictures for the paparazzi, before getting shuffled off to the car again. This time, the woman from before gets in the driver's seat and Adora slides on the passenger side. Netossa pushes me into the back seat and gets in after me.

“There’s nothing else planned for today, Adora. You both just need to make a few social media posts. But I’m assuming that won’t be too difficult!” The woman driving says, and I can see Adora nod.

“Thank you, Spinnerella,” Adora says, reminding me of her name, “How much longer do you think it will be until we get to Kensington? Our esteemed guest, Catra, must be exhausted, if the bags under her eyes are to be believed.” Netossa let out a startled laugh, and I scowl.

“That is rich coming from you, your majesty,” I simply respond, pulling my phone out of my pocket and opening my phone to see multiple texts from Lonnie and Kyle. 

**Catra, did you die on the plane?**  
**_kyle, she’s probably too busy angrierly glaring at adora to respond_**  
*angerly  
**_catra literally shut up nobody likes you_**  
if you didn’t like me, why would you bother to even respond  
**She’s got you there, Lonnie**

I chuckle at the thread of messages, before closing my phone again. I glance out the window as we pull in through the gates of what I assume is Kensington Palace. I take in a sharp breath, which elicits a chuckle from Adora.

“Why the hell is it so big?” I whisper to Netossa, who just chuckles.

“That’s what she said.”

“Netossa, I’m going to have to ask you to shut the fuck up,” I respond, playfully shoving her into the window. Spinnerella steers the car to the front door, where four men in suits come and open all of the doors almost instantly.

“It’s kinda creepy how fast things get done here,” Netossa mutters. But she’s not permitted to step foot in Kensington (she’ll be sleeping in a hotel nearby for reasons that don’t pertain to the fact that the royal family doesn’t trust us), so she’s swept off in another car and I’m alone with Adora and her handler. The thought of that makes me tense up. 

“Catra,” Adora says, clasping her hands in front of her, “did your mother name you that because of her love of cats or desire to see you get made fun of for it?”

“Adora. Shut. Up.” I respond, clenching my fists.

“Now, now ladies,” Spinnerella says before Adora can open her mouth to respond, “I’ll show Catra to her room. And Adora, Glimmer and Bow are waiting for you in the apartment.” I take a moment to think about who the hell Bow could be, until I remember the fact sheet. Bow Okonjo: Adora’s best friend and billionaire. I only have a moment to dwell on it before I’m being rushed away by Spinnerella. 

Multiple hours later, I’m sitting in the bedroom that I was told to stay in. Actually, the word ‘bedroom’ doesn’t quite cover it. It’s more like a small apartment. There’s a kitchen stocked with every snack I could possibly want: Doritos, ice cream, chocolates. Hell, there’s even a burrito in the fridge and a microwave to heat it up with. 

“You need to take at least ¾ of that home,” Kyle’s voice starts, a bit warped by the phone, “like how could anyone eat that much food in a few days?” I laugh, pushing my glasses up my nose. I don’t wear my glasses much (using contacts is a preference of mine) and most people don’t even know I own them. But I tend to wear them on nights like these, nights where I’m stressing over both my history paper, due in two days, AND the close proximity to Adora. It’s like… even though she’s probably halfway across the building, I can feel her presence and it’s just filling me with an underlying anger. 

“Kyle, I don’t think that ¾ of this would even fit. I doubt I could even get ½ in my suitcase, even without my clothes. I’d tell you more, but I’m mildly afraid a trap door is going to open up and drag me down to some form of creepy torture chamber. I had to sign a NDA that was like twice as long as War and Peace.”

“What are they hiding. What if she’s secretly pregnant. Or maybe she’s gay. Ooh! Maybe she’s pregnant with her gay lovers child.”

“That’s just dumb. Maybe I’ll see Spinnerella plugging her in to charge or some shit like that,” I say, rolling onto my side despite the glasses, “What you’re up too must be much less boring, right?”

“I’m just, you know, the usual. I’ve been hanging out with Rogelio…” Kyle mutters through the phone and I laugh.

“Ooohhh! I thought you guys broke up when he joined mom’s team?” I ask Kyle, chuckling when I hear his stammering. 

“We… I… We’re just friends! I don’t even think he’d want me back…” 

“Well, you never-” I start to say, before I hear something in the hallway bump. There’s no reason that anybody should be on this floor, I remember Spinnerella saying that there wasn’t anyone staying on this floor, plus it’s like 3 am. Despite my disgruntled state, I slide out of the bed and walk quietly across the floor. 

“You never what?” Kyle says. I don’t respond, instead focusing on keeping my footsteps silent. I open the door to the main area as quietly as possible and find a silhouette rummaging through my fridge. 

“I’m gonna have to call you back,” I say simply, taking the phone away from my ear. 

“Catra, wha-?” I hear Kyle start before I hang up the phone. I turn my attention back to the figure at the fridge. It takes me a second to realize, but it’s Adora. She’s in a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a white tank top with headphones in her ears. Her hair isn’t up and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her with her hair down. Pushing that thought out of my head, I slide onto the countertop across from the fridge.

“You know, Adora, you’re supposed to knock before you come into somebody else’s weird room-slash-kitchen,” I purred to Adora, watching as she whips her head around, the movement ripping her headphones out. She’s holding a box of something, but I can’t tell what it is.

“Oh, uh, Catra,” She says, and I watch her tighten her grip on the box, “Sorry, um, I just… Cornettos.” 

“Do you always steal ice cream from your guests?” I ask her, taking the box from her hands and opening it. 

“I ran out of them in my room, and I knew that they had stocked you up… and I,” Her accent is infuriating. 

“You couldn’t sleep?” I ask, swinging a leg off the counter.

“You know, ‘m just a little nervous for tomorrow…” Adora says, “Should we, like, practice? For tomorrow?”

“Why would we need practice? It’s not that hard. Just… watch this.” I open instagram and toss a cornetto to Adora. I position her hand in frame, recognizable by that stupid ring she always wears, and hold one of my own. I snap a picture and type out a caption, “Nothing cures jet lag like 3am ice cream with @princessadora,” I read in a monotone voice. I post it and it quickly becomes one of my most liked posts, “Boom. Done. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try and sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” I hand Adora the box of cornettos and angle her towards the door. She starts to walk back to her room, but she turns back around quickly to face me. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” She says simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee here we fucking goooo


	3. chapter three: catra claremont-diaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and Adora read to some children and go on a talk show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i blew out my shoulder, so this chapter is shorter than normal

Chapter 3: Catra Claremont-Diaz

Breakfast is the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. As someone who grew up in a mixed household for 15 years, my mother’s Texan blood blending seamlessly with my father’s Mexican blood, I can’t decide which part of me is more offended at the bland toast with beans. But I (somehow) managed to power through it and find my way to Adora and her eqquery.  
“Your country really should get some more flavorful food. Beans and white toast shouldn’t be considered a viable meal,” I mutter to her the second I’m shuffled to her side.  
“You act like I’m the one who decided for my country to have the blandest food in the world. I much prefer Japanese and French food over English food,” She says back, fiddling with her ring. She’s not smiling and her hair is up again. I can’t get the image of her with her hair down out of my head. She had looked mildly disheveled last night, but somehow her ethereal grace had carried over. It was a perfect mixture of disorder and perfect. It sort of shone a new light on her, a part of her nobody ever saw. Hell, I don’t think I’d ever seen Adora with her hair completely down until last night. I push those thoughts out of my head and bite my lip. We’re being guided through the halls of Kensington Palace and I notice that Adora is slightly more fidgety than normal.  
“Everything okay with you, your royal highness? I wouldn’t want you going into an interview nervous…” I ask her, my voice dripping with fake concern.  
“Yes, Catra,” I notice she sighs a little when she turns her head to me. It pisses me off that she’s a couple inches taller than me.  
“Okay, my graceness,” I say, doing mock curtsey. I notice Adora stiffen and Spinerella’s shoulders shake slightly with repressed laughter.  
“Oh dear,” I hear Adora mutter slightly, and I take note of the fact that she’s fiddling with her ring a little more aggressively now. We come up on a discreet black car that we are lightly shoved into. Adora sits next to me and keeps awkwardly glancing over towards me and the tension in the air is so thick that you could cut it with a knife. The ride to the tv studio is mercilessly short, but the thick crowd outside makes it a little slower. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before a shake causes me to jump. It was Spinerella, shaking a pill out of an orange prescription bottle and wordlessly handing it to Adora. I watch as she swallows the pill dry with a slight grimace. My time to wonder about what that could possibly mean is cut short when we come to an abrupt halt.  
“Her royal highness will go before you, Ms. Claremont-Diaz. You are to act as if you like each other.” Spinerella says to us, before someone opens the car door and Adora slides out. After taking a quick breath and pasting on my press-ready smile, I climb out of the car after her.  
The hosts of the talk show are so British, it scares me. They’re practically the epitome of American stereotypes about England. But the interview is quick and me and Adora are quickly shuttled out of the studio to a hospital, to read to children. There are photographers swarming all over the place, and most of the kids don’t know who I am, but Adora introduces me as kindly as she can muster. Of course, once she mentions that I’m the president's daughter, the children want to know things like how big the white house is and if I know Taylor Swift. But I indulge them before lifting a book and starting to read. I can hear the click of the camera at the beginning, but eventually the photographer walks out. I keep reading, but eventually the kids that I was reading to fall asleep and I notice that Adora is across the room, talking softly to someone behind a curtain. A quick duck down to count the feet shows that it’s just the child and Adora. So naturally, being the busybody that I am, I go and eavesdrop.  
Adora is standing there, holding the hand of a little girl with a handkerchief with the rebellion starbird on it wrapped around her head. A quick glance at the girls chart says that her name is Claudette and she has leukemia.  
“Like Star Wars, do you?” Adora asks, her voice low and soft. The girls eyes brighten at the mention of it.  
“Oh it’s my absolute favourite!” She says, smiling, “I’d like to be Princess Leia when I grow up.”  
“Really?” Adora asks, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.  
“Well, yes! She’s so cool and pretty and she gets to kiss Han Solo,” the girl’s pale cheeks flush at the mention of kissing, but she maintains fierce eye contact with Adora, “Who’s your favourite?”  
“Oh, my favourite is Luke. He shows that no matter who your family is, you can do good.” The girl smiles at that and Adora tips her head at her as Rogelio comes through the door to bring us back to the car. But halfway through the hallway, three things happen in quick succession. One: there’s a loud crash and a couple shouts. Two: There’s a loud noise that sounds exactly like gunshots. Three: Rogelio shoves me and Adora into a supply closet, causing us both to fall over a stack of bedpans.  
“Stay down,” He orders, before shutting the door on us and blocking out all light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry abt the mild cliffhanger, but the next part of this will be posted next week


	4. chapter four: her royal highness adora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after getting shoved in a closet, adora and catra are forced to talk about their issues as they avoid getting shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have a pov switch! also i'm posting this at 1 am shut up
> 
> also guys make sure you stay safe during pride month with operation pridefall. take all precautions needed and keep yourself safe!

Chapter Four: Her Royal Highness Adora

“Fuck…” I hear Catra say, just before I feel her elbow dig into my ribcage, “I wasn’t aware getting shoved in a hospital closet was on a royal’s schedule.”

“This is a first for me,” I say, shoving her arm off of me. I hear something crash and I wince. 

“I can’t believe that the second I go out with a royal, I almost get shot,” Catra mutters, leaning against the wall and her knees knock against mine. 

“This is the first time you’re threatened to get shot? You come from a country full of guns!” 

“Well,” She splutters, crossing her arms. There isn’t any light in the closet, except the small fragments shining through the door, but I can feel her glare on me. Suddenly, two things happen in succession. One) Catra moves slightly and falls over a bucket and Two) She grabs my arm and we both crash to the floor. The bedpans we knocked over upon arrival helped and I could hear Catra’s grunt as topple on top of her.

“Seriously?” I exclaim, using my arms to elevate me above her. I can feel my face burning at the close contact but I ignore it, thankful for the darkness. 

“Could you move over, your highness?” She asks me, her smirk visible through her words.

“Could you take this seriously for one fucking second?” I ask her, shifting my right forearm on her throat, mimicking a move I had seen in movies and books before. Underneath me, she bucks her hips, but I stand my ground.

“So you do have some fight in you!” She practically shouts, shoving me off of her with a quick and unexpected move. 

“Are you quite done putting our lives in danger?” I ask her, shifting so my back is against some solid object, either another stack of something or the wall. For a few minutes, it’s just silent but Catra’s sigh cuts through the silence.

“So, um, Star Wars?” She starts, and I wince.

“Yes,” I say, my tone icy in preparation for the insult that is most likely coming my way, “Royal children do things other than go to tea parties, Catra.”

“I thought it was mostly just polo and posture coaching,” She says to me and I wince again. 

“That… might have been some of it,” I say, begrudgingly. She bursts out laughing and I allow myself a small smile.

“So,” She says, after stifling her laughter, “You’re into pop culture, but act like you’re not. Either you’re not allowed to talk about it because it’s unseemly for the crown, or you choose not to talk about it because you want people to think you’re cultured. Which one?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me? Are royal guests allowed to do that?”

“Do you have to insist upon being a bland cut and paste of your siblings? You said to that little girl that you could do good no matter what your family has done, so why don’t you?”

“Why do you care?” I ask, and even I can tell that my voice is strained.

“We’re contractually obligated to be best friends for the rest of time. People won’t believe it if it’s just one weekend. So, whether you like it or no, you’re stuck with me. So, I’d like to know what the fuck your deal is so that I know before it can bite me in the ass.”

“Why don’t we start…” I say, carefully, “with why you hate me so much?”

“Is this really a conversation you want to have?” She asks me, and I can sense a little bit of challenge in her voice. 

“Maybe it is,” I respond simply, crossing my arms. 

“You seriously don’t know?” She asks me, her tone tight with annoyance. I grimace.

“Please, Catra, enlighten me.”

“It was the first time we ever met, at the Rio Olympics. I was the shiny new first daughter. You were someone I had idolized for a while. I introduced myself and you promptly asked Spinnerella to ‘get rid of me’. So yeah, that’s why.” I exhale loudly and rub my eyes, the memory coming back to me. With that memory resurfacing, it’s dragging others with it. It gave me a headache. 

“Oh,” I say, letting the silence fester for a moment before I respond, “I didn’t realize that you had heard that.”

“I think you missed the point. The point was that it was an asshole move whether I heard it or not.”

“That’s completely fair, but is that all? Only the Olympics?” I ask, dreading the answer. 

“It’s just… what we do is fucking hard. But it will always be harder for me. I'm the daughter of the first female president. I’m bi-racial and even I don’t know who my dad is. You’re like, this picture perfect princess. It’s just… no matter how much they compare us, I will never be on the same level as you. That fucking hurts, and of course, you’re the living reminder.”

“Well,” I say, after being silent for a long moment, “I can’t really help with much of that, but if it makes you feel any better, my father had died 14 months prior to our first meeting and I was a prick to everyone. And I truly am sorry.”

“It’s good to know you’re not perfect,” Catra tells me, and I can hear a smile behind her words. 

We sit in comfortable silence, letting the dust of our conversation settle. I take those moments to shove my thoughts deep down inside me. Take all of that wishful thinking and grind it to dust and scatter it in the wind, along with the rest of my hopes and dreams. The silence is somehow both whole and hollow and I chew on my bottom lip for a moment before making a silent decision. 

“ _Return of the Jedi_ ,” I blurt out, watching as the dark outline of Catra’s head snaps up and shakes with suppressed laughter.

“You’re wrong.”

“Well, if I’m wrong, then what is right?” I cross my arms again.

“Ok, _Empire_ ,” She says simply, as if there is no counter argument.

“But, it’s so dark!” I exclaim and the outline of Catra shrugs.

“I like that about it. It also has the best twist in cinematic history,” She says in the same tone. I roll my eyes.

“I like the happy ending in _Jedi_. It wraps everything up all nice.”

“But Hoth!” 

“But Endor,” I respond, sniffing.

“Ok but it’s the most thematically complex. It’s got Han and Leia. You meet Yoda. Han is at the top of ohis game and fucking Lando Calrissian! What does _Jedi_ have? Fucking ewoks!”

“Ewoks are iconic!”

“Ewoks are stupid.”

“No, they’re not! They’re like teddy bears!”

“Not helping your case, Your Excellency.” She says to me, nudging my arm as we’re suddenly bathed in a bright light. In the doorway, the guard guy (Roger? Rogelio? Something with an R) stands with a smirk on his face. 

“Some dumbass brought fireworks into a hospital. It was a false alarm,” He tells us, his breathing heavy, “This looks cozy.”

“We’re really bonding,” Catra says, her eyes shining, as she takes his hand and lets him haul her to her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder that this whole au is based off of a book called red white and royal blue. credit for the idea and some of the dialogue goes to casey mcquiston. also whoa i cant write for shit


	5. chapter five: catra claremont-diaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the great turkey calamity!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not posting for a while! i just finished up my freshman year of highschool (thank fucking GOD) and i was p busy with that for the last few weeks. plus writers block is a bitch!
> 
> anyways enjoy this badly written, short and rushed chapter

After spending two days with Adora, my perspective had really changed. It had changed enough that I gave her my number so we could uphold the ‘best friend image’ without having to go through security teams to confirm everything. As September turned to October, I had yet to receive a text from her. I wasn’t _offended_ , just annoyed that she ignored my idea. 

“You’re brooding more than normal,” Lonnie tells me, poking my side sharply. I hiss out a breath, glaring at her. 

“Literally shut the fuck up, Lonnie, nobody likes you,” I respond, sticking my tounge out at her. She rolls her eyes at me and I grin. Then suddenly, a notification cuts through our temporary silence. 

“Was that you?” I ask, shortly before a second ding goes off. I pull my phone out of my pocket to see two texts from an unknown number.

**_this girl looks like you_ **  
**_[attached image]_ **

**_this is adora, by the way_ **

I must have been staring at the messages, because Lonnie waved her hand in front of my face. 

“Uhhh, did someone die? What kind of message deserved that reaction?”

“I… uh…” I start, feeling my cheeks heat up under Lonnie’s stare, “It was nobody!” 

“Okayyyy…” Lonnie tells me, with a wink. I ignore her in favor of adding Adora’s contact in my phone. I had to get a snide remark in, even if she wasn't here with me, so naturally I saved her contact as Her Royal Highness Princess Dickhead 💩. I didn’t think it was important to respond right now, so I just left the message alone. 

A few days pass and while scrolling through my messages aimlessly, I stumble upon Adora’s message again. I sit there staring at my phone again, chewing on my bottom lip, thinking of a way that I could possibly respond. Naturally, that response hits me as soon as I open the news app on my phone. **IS PRINCESS ADORA PREGNANT?** the headline reads. I snicker a little as I screenshot it. 

**[attached image]**  
**but we were ever so careful dear!**

Of course, Adora’s response doesn’t come for a couple days. And when she does respond, it’s a screenshot of a comment on my instagram page. **@kaz_leg_brekker: you seem like an asshole!!!**

**_it seems somebody agrees with me_ **

**im pretty sure that kid would literally shit themself if they knew that you had seen their comment**

**_i’m sure you’re right_ **

***

After that conversation, Adora and I fell into an easy rhythm. I learned that Adora had a lot of early morning meetings. I also learned that Adora really hates her early morning meetings. I’ve become used to receiving texts at 3 in the morning saying things like “does gran know how to shut up?” or “glimmer just tried to smother me with her cat”. It becomes easy to fall into rhythm with her. September and October fly by, and the next thing I know, it’s Thanksgiving. And my mom is talking to me about the turkey pardon prep. And of course, I’m just _now_ finding out that the turkeys are staying in a 5-star hotel room on the taxpayers dime. 

“Mom, seriously!” I shout at her, cutting off her exit so she can’t escape the conversation. She notices my strategy and sighs in defeat, sitting down in a chair nearby. 

“Kitty, it’s been like this every year!” She responds, rubbing her temples, “Where would we even put them?”

“Bring them here!” I shoot back, watching my moms look up at me.

“Sugar, do you have a turkey enclosure up your ass or something? Let me restate that: where would we even put them!” 

“Put them in my room!” 

“I’m not going to put the turkeys in your room.”

“Put them in my room. Put them in my room. Put them in my room put them in my room put them in my room!” 

And that is how I ended up with two turkeys in my room, staring into my soul with their dark, pitiless eyes. 

**THEY KNOW!!!!!!**

THEY KNOW THE MANY SINS I HAVE COMMITED AND ARE HERE TO PUNISH ME!

I text Adora, after having been ignored by Lonnie and Kyle. She, of course, sends her idea of a comforting response.

**_please send pictures_ **

**you don’t understand how scary the gobble of a turkey is the first time you hear it**

**_no but i’ve heard tales of the horrid gobble_ **

In a spur of the moment decision, in the seconds after receiving that message, I decided to say fuck it and hit the call button. I turned the phone onto speaker and waited for Adora to answer. When she did, I launched straight into the lecture I had planned out in those few seconds. 

“Listen here, you little shit!” I shout at the phone, maneuvering myself on my bed so I’m facing the turkeys. 

“Catra, have you really just rung me at 3 in the am to make me listen to turkey gobbles?” She asks me, her voice slightly incredulous. 

“Yes, obviously!” I shout back, extending my arm in front of the cages. For a minute, the entire room is silent. Then Adora’s voice cuts through.

“Clearly, they’re terrifying.”

“You’ve got to be fucking with me! They were gobbling all the goddamn time 2 minutes ago!”

“You’ve got to really get in their head. I learned these tricks from Seahawk when I made him take me turkey hunting. You have to make eye contact with the turkey,” Adora starts, and I follow along with her instructions, “You have to really empathize with the turkey. Gain it’s trust.”

“Okay…”

“Next thing you do, it befriend the turkey. Then you buy a summer home in Majorca with the turkey.”

“OH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” I shout, causing the turkeys to start gobbling, which only makes me scream louder, “did you hear that, you better have fucking heard that!”

“Sorry, I must have gone momentarily deaf.”

“You literally suck! I bet you haven’t even been turkey hunting!” 

“Catra, it’s illegal to hunt them in England.” I groan, throwing myself across the bed and onto the pillow, “Well, I will admit it was a little scary…”

“Wait, didn’t you say it’s 3 am? Why the fuck are you awake?” I ask, and I hear a small intake of breath from her side. 

“I… promise not to make fun of me?”

“Sure,” I respond, not really meaning it in the slightest. 

“I… might be watching Great British Bake Off…” 

“Cute,” I respond, “Not at all embarrassing. Although, I’m sensing there is more to this.”

“I might be wearing a peel off face mask- MR. WOBBLES NO! Stop eating my Jaffa Cakes!” 

“What the fuck is a Mr. Wobbles?” 

“It’s my sister’s dumbass cat, he’s about 200 pounds and keeps trying to eat my food.”

“Followup question: what the fuck is a Jabba Cake?” 

“It’s Jaffa! Ja-ffa!” She tells me, but I interrupt her with a huge yawn, “Catra, go to bed!” 

“It’s only 11!” 

“Just do it!” She shouts at me, hanging up the phone. I send her a snide text message before plugging my phone in and laying down on the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the cameo my friend got (follow @kaz_leg_brekker on instagram and kaz-leg-brekker on tumblr!)
> 
> sorry this is so badly written i had writers block for two weeks and then pushed through it to squeeze this out. plus its almost 1 am 
> 
> follow @j.cstens on instagram and softstotle on tumblr!


	6. chapter six: catra claremont-diaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Legendary Balls-out Bananas White House Trio New Year’s Eve Party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i look pretty good for a dead bitch
> 
> sorry about my lack of updates over the summer. i had nothing to procrastinate with writing this

“Which one of you fuckers invited Adora?” I say, confronting Lonnie and Kyle during the planning of the Legendary Balls-out Bananas White House Trio New Year’s Eve Party. Every year since my mother had been elected, we had thrown a New Year’s Eve party. The official name is the Young America New Year’s Eve Gala, but calling it the LBOBWHTNYEP is far more fun. I had been reviewing the guest list, making sure we had all of the famous people’s kids, young celebrities and political allies when I had stumbled across Adora’s name. Because _I_ didn’t invite her, I assumed it was one of the two of them.

“Wasn’t me,” Lonnie says, taking a bite of the cake she was sampling. I turn on Kyle, who shrinks back in his chair. 

“Well… I figured since you were friends now,” Kyle starts, but I cut him off.

“Not friends. We just text each other for the public friendship,” I say, but Lonnie rolls her eyes.

“Christ, Catra. You literally called her for like an hour on Thanksgiving. You’re friends, admit it.”

“Well, even if she does come,” I start, but Kyle interjects.

“She is.”

“Ok, well since she’s coming, I want to make sure I’m not babysitting all night.”

“Don’t worry, we gave her a plus one,” Lonnie says, her voice weird.

“Who?” I respond immediately, “Not like I care.” 

“Bow…” Kyle says, his voice just as weird.

*** 

A little less than a week later, a week full of color swatches and champagne samples, I see a post from Bow. It’s a selfie of him and Adora on a plane with the caption **USA bound! #YoungAmericanGala2020**. Naturally, that requires a text to Adora.

**ATTN: i will be wearing a burgundy velvet suit. do not attempt to steal my shine, you will fail and i will be embarrassed for you.**

Of course, Adora texts back a few moments later. 

_Wouldn’t dream of it_  
I was in the middle of typing a witty response when Lonnie comes carrening in to drag me to the cosmetic room to get ready. Kyle is done in less than an hour, so he sits to the side eating a sandwich while watching me and Lonnie get into our camera ready selves. I’m wearing a suit similar to the one I wore to the royal wedding, but the material was switched from whatever normal suits are made of to a soft velvet. As the makeup and hair artists work tirelessly on me, I simply space out until they finish. And when they’re done, I stand next to Lonnie. She’s wearing a bodycon dress with a pattern of geometric lines and her hair is swept back into a bun with a silver pin that matches the dress pattern. Kyle’s simply in a black suit that has an underlying shimmer. His tie is a yellow and stands out against the simple blacks and whites of the rest of his outfit. 

“Ready to kick some ass?” I ask, smirking at them. Kyle nods aggressively and Lonnie smirks as we start to walk towards the party. 

When we enter, we’re immediately bombarded with reporters and photographers. Somehow, we manage to sidestep most of them and make our way to the dance floor. The band playing is a popular one who owed Lonnie a favor. People were already on the dance floor, so the three of start looping around, greeting anyone who bothers to talk to us. After at least 5 walks around the room, we collapse in bar stools, ordering our 4th drinks. 

“This is really going well! Nobody’s fallen down any stairs this year,” Kyle says, just before taking a shot. Lonnie and I burst into laughter, almost falling off our stools. 

“I’m sure what Kyle said couldn’t have been _that_ funny,” A posh voice says from behind me. When I flip around, I’m greeted with a burst of bright colors and a sensible navy dress with a deep v-neck and a gold belt. Adora stands there, fidgeting with her ring while a man in an incredibly bright bomber jacket and pastel pink hair stands next to her. 

“Hey Adora,” I say, standing up and fake bowing to her, “And you must be…”

“Bow!” He says, holding a hand out to me. I shake it quickly before turning to Adora. The first time we’re seeing each other since the aftermath of cakegate. With everything we’ve shared since then, I figured it would be a little more… awkward. Sure, the world knows that we’re best friends but only we know about the Great Turkey Calamity (as Lonnie has so kindly dubbed it). As we stand next to each other, Adora towering over me even when I’m in heels, I find myself feeling almost dazed. My stomach feels light as I turn to face Adora. 

“Nice dress,” I say to her, finding my eyes unable to move from her chest. 

“Thanks. I figured that if I wore something typical of the crown, I would be removed from the premises,” She says, crossing her arms over her waist. I shake my head and remove myself from the cleavage-induced haze, meeting her eyes. She smiles at me and it’s so warm that I can’t help but smile back. 

One of my favorite feelings in the entire world is the feeling you get while at a party. The bubble of the champagne, the confetti sticking to your feet from the confetti cannon you didn’t realize that you even had, the music blaring from the speakers. A little bit ago, the live music had been replaced by a DJ playing early 2000s music. The dance floor was packed and Kyle and I were dancing together. Lonnie and Adora were sitting off to the side drinking champagne and Lonnie was almost falling off her chair with laughter. I distantly wonder what Adora said to make Lonnie laugh so hard. As midnight approaches, I feel myself getting even drunker and drunker. I waded through the crowd towards them as the song starts to end. 

“Are all American parties like this?” Adora shouts over the song, triggering a smile to split across my lips. 

“Pretty much, your highness. Try and keep up,” I say, winking at her before grabbing her hand and dragging her onto the dance floor. 

“Oh no…” I heard Adora say, trying to wriggle free from my grip, “I don’t dance.”

“You do now,” I say, releasing her once we get back to Kyle. Suddenly, the song changes.

“Shut the fuck up! This is my **shit**!” I scream as Get Low by Lil Jon blasts through the speakers. Adora looks insanely uncomfortable as I start to sway my hips along with the song. She averts her gaze, her cheeks tinted red. It’s _fun_. Dancing with Lonnie and Kyle while Adora just sways awkwardly, occasionally laughing at us. Kyle disappears at one point, presumably to go flirt with Rogelio. After practically begging Adora to dance, she finally gives her hips a little wiggle. But by then, it was almost midnight.

“Fuck yes!” I say as I fall into place next to Kyle. It’s been a tradition since the first one of these for me and Kyle to kiss at midnight on New Years. Neither of us _really_ know how it started, but who are we to go against tradition. As everyone screams the countdown, I wrap an arm around Kyle. When midnight hits, I quickly give Kyle a sloppy kiss. He tastes like a mixture of vodka and champagne and when I pull away, we both bust out laughing. Across the dance floor, Adora stares at me. A bottle is clutched in her hand. She simply takes a swig from the bottle and disappears into the crowd. 

Instead of enjoying the rest of the party, I find myself searching for Adora. When I ask Bow, he simply smiles at me before taking a shot and disappearing. I had almost given up hope before I saw a figure out in the snowy garden. I silently slip outside into the garden, trying not to crunch the snow. When I get a couple feet away, I take a moment to look at the scene. If Adora wasn’t clearly leaning against the tree, I wouldn’t have even realized that she wasn’t sober. I take another step and a twig snaps. Adora glances behind her with a smile, her lips slightly tinted blue. 

“Jesus christ, Adora,” I say, slipping my jacket off and onto her shoulders. She giggles a little, wrapping it around her. A bottle sits at the base of the tree and I wrap my arms around my body, “What are you doing out here?” 

“Sometimes,” She starts, licking her lips, “it gets to be a little… too much to handle.” 

“I know what you mean,” I say, putting my hands into my pockets. For a moment, we just stand there. I watch my breath float from my lips into the air. 

“What do you think you would do if we weren’t famous?” She says, breaking the silence pushing the jacket up a little higher. 

“Come again?” 

“If you mom wasn’t the president and I wasn’t royalty, I mean. What do you think you would do?” 

“Probably be a model, these looks transcend the politics.” I tell her, rubbing my hands together, “what about you?”

“I’d be a writer.” She says, examining her manicure. 

“Why does it matter?” 

“Royal women are strongly encouraged from staying unemployed. I’d also probably date more.”

“Dare more? Aren’t you a princess? Men are lining up at your door to date you. You have option after option,” I murmur.

“The options I want… well they’re hardly options.” She laughs a little breathlessly.

“I don’t follow.” Her words don’t process through my head like when I hear Spainyards speaking Spanish. I know that it’s the same language but it doesn’t sound the same. 

“Christ you are as thick as it gets,” Adora exclaims. I open my mouth to respond but before I can, she grabs my face and kisses me. 

_Oh_ I think. I feel my hands grasp at her waist, feeling a lack of my jacket. I open my eyes and see my jacket on the snow, but my brain is short circuiting. My mouth opens a little and Adora takes that as an invitation. Suddenly, her tongue is there. And we’re there. A princess and the first daughter, kissing in the white house garden. I move my hands from her waist to her hair, which causes Adora to realize what she’s done. She pulls away aggressively. 

“Fuck... I’m sorry,” She says picking up the bottle and running away. Distantly, I wonder if I should go after her. But by the time that I’ve processed what happened, Adora’s gone.

“Oh,” I say, pushing my fingers against my lips, “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're welcome


	7. chapter seven: catra claremont-diaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> catra has a sexuality crisis and the state dinner happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really bad at remembering to write but here you guys go
> 
> also be warned that there is lowkey smut in this chapter (i'm really bad at writing it oop)
> 
> anyways heres a distraction from the mess that is american politics right now

Chapter 7

The think about the kiss is the fact that I can’t fucking stop thinking about it. From the moment I walked back inside to find her completely gone to the moment I woke up, my head pounding, I thought about it. Every little thing in my life became centered around Adora. Instead of paying attention in my classes, I sat there and wondered what she was doing now and I fantasized about her lips on mine. I tried halfheartedly to call her for the 20th time but I wasn’t shocked when I went straight to voicemail. So instead I just paced. And paced. And paced. After two days of pacing and thinking about her and pacing some more, Lonnie picks my lock and throws a pair of sneakers at me. 

“I can hear your footsteps through the wall. We’re going for a run,” She says to me, tightening her ponytail. Instead of arguing, which I knew would be a fruitless attempt, I slipped the shoes on. I sort of felt like a dog that needed to be taken on a walk in that moment. 

“You’re like a dog that needs to be taken for walks,” Lonnie says to me, just proving my point. Rogelio walks us to the reflecting pool and Lonnie kicks me in the shins to get me going. We run together, Taylor Swift blasting through my earbuds, ignoring the looks and shouts at us and the pictures taken of us. The familiar burn in my lungs and my legs ground me enough that I can finally think. 

Now, here’s the thing. I’m almost 99% sure that I’m straight. Like, when I was in high school and one of my friends came out, I never thought about coming out as gay like that. Like, that means that I can’t be gay. When I kissed a guy, I never thought about it being a girl. And sure, sometimes in the locker room when other girls were changing, I’d admire their bodies as we changed for practice, but that’s just normal girl stuff… right. 

By the time, we’re on our 5th loop around, I’m completely lost in my own head. The second I come to the conclusion that I’m straight, the thought of Adora kissing me comes back into my brain and I’m spiraling again. And I think about the way her waist felt in my arms. I think about the late night text conversations and the phone calls and all the jokes and glances shared at the party. And I think about the way that her lips felt on mine. Then three things hit me like a ton of bricks. 1) Adora kissed me, and I liked it. 2) I definitely want Adora to kiss me again. 3) Adora isn’t the first girl I’ve wanted to kiss. Huntara. Netossa. Spinnerella. Princess Leia. And so many more. 

Before I can even fully process the information, I fall to the ground, my knee skimming the pavement and causing me to face plant into a loose pile of snow. Faintly, from the headphones ripped from my ears, you can hear Cruel Summer playing. As Lonnie jogs over to me, her face is filled with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. 

“What the fuck is up with you?” She asks, holding back laughter at the sight of me with a bloody knee and a faceful of snow. 

“Nothing,” I lie, taking her outstretched hand and brushing the snow off my face. She looks me up and down skeptical but doesn’t say anything more. I limp back to the White House behind her and put a captain america bandaid on my knee, repressing my recent realization. 

The only thing that I can think to do is talk to Kyle. The thing about Lonnie is that she is absolutely not into guys. She tried dating Kyle during our Mom’s campaign, but that did not work out, considering the fact that they’re both gay now. So as my resident Not Straight sister, I figured all I could do is talk to her, despite avoiding it earlier. 

Two days later, I’m climbing into her loft bed with two bags of chipotle. She’s typing away at her computer, and when I ask for an explanation she mumbles something about the poll numbers for the next election. Numbers were sort of always her thing. 

“Damn, you brought chipotle? You must really want something…” She says to me, taking the bag I offer her and opening it hopefully, “Did you get me barbacoa?”

“Yes, I got you barbacoa. I’ve lived with you for basically 21 years, Lon’. I think I know your chipotle order by now. And yes, I do want something,” I tell her, opening my burrito bowl. She nods at me as she tears into her burrito, getting guac all over her keyboard. She doesn’t mind. 

“So, you remember how you dating Kyle sort of, awakened the gay in you?” I mumble, watching the way her face goes from almost completely disinterested to curious in a split second. 

“You’re either about to tell me that you’re gay or you’re going to tell me you like Kyle,” She states, watching my expression with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. 

“I-” I start and she laughs, “I am certainly not into Kyle. However for the gay thing… I’m sort of figuring it out right now and I figured that you’d be the best person to talk to about this….” 

“Well… what happened then?” She asks me bluntly, snorting as I freeze. 

“Adora… She kissed me on New Years. Sort of sent me into a sexuality crisis spiral. You know how it goes…” I go for a bite of my food while she stares. 

“Ok. So what was your thoughts on it? Did you like it?” 

“Aren’t you going to like, question, the fact that I just said that Adora kissed me?” I ask in between mouthfuls. 

“Well, I was under the impression that we all knew that she way gay,” Lonnie admitted, her mouth full. 

“Wait? We knew? I didn’t fucking know!” I exclaim, almost dropping my food all over her bedsheets. She swears at me before nodding her head. 

“I literally said it like… a couple months ago? Were you not paying attention??” 

“I thought you were joking!! Jesus christ….”

“You have yet to answer if you liked it or not,” She points out, picking a bean off her laptop and eating it. 

“Well, I’m not even gay! How could I know if I liked it or not??” 

“Wait… I thought we knew that you were gay too? Like… are you missing a puzzle piece here?” 

“I mean…. I don’t think I’m gay?” 

“Catra, darling. You’re as gay as the day is long. You have been for years and years. May I remind you of Octavia? You took the phrase “boys pull girls pigtails when they have a crush” and ran with it,” She snorts, before stuffing her face again. 

“Ok so maybe I am gay. Well, either way I didn’t like the kiss,” I lie, taking a bite as a diversion. Of course, Lonnie sees right though it. 

“Bullshit!” 

“Ook so maybe I did like it! That doesn’t change anything… does it?” 

“Catra. I’m not you. I can’t have your sexuality crisis for you, yknow.” I flop face first onto her pillows.

“God fucking damn it. I kissed Adora. And I liked it.” 

***

Adora can’t avoid me forever. There was still one part of the contract that was yet to be fulfilled. And that was the State Dinner. After helping me realize that I absolutely want to kiss Adora again, Lonnie agreed to help at the cost of another free fast food meal. She way staying in the house as a common courtesy, but she wasn’t in her room when I tried knocking the first time. So, I figured that I’d simply have to wait until the dinner to drag her away and seduce her. Lonnie’s words, not mine. 

Waiting is never fun, but waiting for your enemy/friend/person you want to make out with so that you can try and make out with them before an important dinner is one of the most stressful things ever. But of course, Adora is fashionably late despite literally staying in the residence. We’re forced together to take pictures, but she darts off before I can even get a word in. Dinner starts and ends in a blur of champagne and staring at Adora’s hair. There were a few times that we met eyes, but she quickly broke eye contact. 

After dinner was over, I whispered to Lonnie to start the plan. Quickly, she collected Kyle and moved to talk to Adora in her stupid dress and I went to talk to Rogelio. 

“Rogelio, do you think I can get Princess Adora alone?” I whisper to him. He looks at me for a second, darts his eyes to Adora, Kyle and Lonnie. 

“I can supervise a conversation between you two in a different room, but I’d have to okay it with Adora’s security detail.” 

“No, you don’t understand,” I flush a little, “I need her like, alone alone.” Rogelio’s eyes dart to the trio again before sighing. 

“I can give you five minutes in the red room. Anything else is a no-go.” I nod at him before walking as fast as my legs would take me. When I reach Lonnie, her eyes sparkle with chaos. 

“Hello, your grace,” I greeted, extravagantly bowing before grabbing her arm and walking out of the room.

“Catra, please. I’m clearly busy!” She tries to wrench her arm free but I just tighten my hold on her.

“Shut up.” Rogelio looks a little concerned after we shut the ballroom door but he simply opens the door to the red room. 

“Please don’t kill her,” he sighs before shutting the door. 

“What on earth do you want, Catra? Do you want to fight me or something?” Adora’s accent sends butterflies to my stomach. 

“Shut the fuck up,” I tell her, surging forward and roughly kissing her. Her eyes and mouth are frozen in shock and for a moment, I think I may have misjudged, but then she’s there and she’s kissing back. Her hands are in my hair and my hands are on her waist and we’re there, frozen in time for a moment. And when we break for breath, Adora looks happier than I’d ever seen her. But then she freezes up. 

“Shouldn’t we like… eat dinner first? Or something like that,” She questions, pressing her fingers against her lips for a moment. Instead of commenting on that, I simply sweep a candelabra off a table and push her against it. Her legs fall open readily and then we’re kissing again. It feels like hours pass while we’re there, kissing. Then, Rogelio knocks on the door loudly.

“Five minutes are up,” He says, cracking the door and very pointedly not looking in. We fall apart and Adora’s hair is a mess and her lips are swollen and her cheeks are flushed and she looks gorgeous. And it’s not fair. She’s there, sitting on the table, legs still apart, breathing heavily. 

“Wow,” She says simply before opening her eyes and looking at me. I feel incredibly hot and I can definitely tell that me and Adora are in the same situation. 

“For the rest of tonight, you’re going to stay far, far away from me. Because if you don’t I’m going to do bad things in front of important people. But, I want you in my room at 10:45 tonight,” I command, watching as she gulps and nods. She stands up and rights the candelabra we knocked over and presses her thighs together. I press a kiss to my fingers before pressing those fingers to her lips and saunter out of the room to find Lonnie and Kyle. 

Two hours later, I’m pacing around my room with low music playing from my record player. I took off my tights and shoes, but I’m still wearing the wine coloured dress I had on at the dinner. The hem brushes against my knees as I pace around my room, waiting. I wasn’t sure the dress code for asking your enemy (who is a princess) to hook up in your room in the white house was, so I left the dress on. The clock hits 10:38 and I hear a soft knock at the door. I immediately wrench it open to find Adora standing there, her dress slightly askew and her hair down. 

“Sorry I’m early, I had some trouble finding the place. A helpful secret service agent named Rogelio helped me though,” She tells me before stepping into my room. I realize that she’s barefoot as well. The height difference is even more aggravating when you’re about to hook up with someone. So instead of responding, I just close the door behind her and push her against it.

“Oh, we’re playing that game then,” She mused, licking her lips. We kissed for a moment before Adora took control over the moment. Her hands grasped at the back of my dress and slipped the zipper down. I shrugged the gown off, standing before her in just a bra and underwear (both chosen specifically for this moment). Her eyes rake over my body before she pushes me onto the bed. As I topple backwards onto the bed, she follows, pinning me down underneath her. We kiss for a couple more minutes before she slips her fingers under the waistband of my panties. I know she feels the way that my breath catches against her lips. I know she can hear my hums of approval. But she just continues kissing me and working magic with her fingers. When I finally come against her, I can feel her smile against my lips. She breaks away for a moment to lick her fingers before looking down on me, hair plastered to my head from sweat, lips swollen and eyes a little foggy. 

“That was…” I tell her, “Now it’s your turn.” 

Quickly, Adora sheds her dress, standing before me wearing nothing but panties. I smile at her switching our positions on the bed. Teasingly, I take off her panties before she drapes one of her legs over my shoulders. Determined to do better than her, I simply listen to her gasps and slight moans as I move my tongue. I add a finger inside her after a couple minutes and she gasps a little louder. 

“Catra…” She gasps out, her legs trembling. She has a dazed expression on her face as I wipe my face on my hand. I’m tempted to curl up around her, but I figure it’s probably a better idea for us to spend the night in our separate rooms. She agrees with me and I watch as she (now fully clothed) makes her way down the hall. When I walk back into my room and fall against my door, sliding down it onto the floor.   
“Fuck,” is all I can say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see yall in like 2 weeks - 4 months :))


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